


Sting

by MortTroup



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Behind the Scenes, M/M, excerpt of writing??? first time writing before
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:20:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27794473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MortTroup/pseuds/MortTroup
Summary: hey guys! this is my first time writing anything fanfic related ever so its not great! this is basically a scene where George ignores Clay's admission of love. As a disclaimer, I do not avidly ship the two, I just really enjoy being in the fandom and wanted to give writing a go :). Any critiques or advice would be greatly appreciated. Enjoy xEdit: the italics didn't save when I copied it across to ao3?? I have no clue how to fix it sldjflkdf
Relationships: Clay | Dream &; GeorgeNotFound





	Sting

**Author's Note:**

> hey guys! this is my first time writing anything fanfic related ever so its not great! this is basically a scene where George ignores Clay's admission of love. As a disclaimer, I do not avidly ship the two, I just really enjoy being in the fandom and wanted to give writing a go :). Any critiques or advice would be greatly appreciated. Enjoy x
> 
> Edit: the italics didn't save when I copied it across to ao3?? I have no clue how to fix it sldjflkdf

The cool touch of the tiles on his back invited him to stay and wallow a little longer. He tried to focus on his breathing with his eyes squeezed shut, as if it would keep the unwelcome images from his mind. Clay found the dark, damp bathroom soothing; something about having nothing to focus on but the overwhelming scent of his lavender air freshener and the drip of the leaking faucet calmed him.  
"God, it’s too late for this bullshit,” he groaned to himself, not realising he had even opened his mouth. He wasn’t sure of the time, surely at least 2am by this stage. He couldn’t stay awake any longer. He grew more fatigued by the second as the adrenaline from their conversation was finally wearing off after five long hours. As his eyes slowly closed, he forgot how he was pitifully laying on the damp bathroom floor, rather thinking about how he wanted to be laying in his arms. The need to be in his arms, held by him, gnawed at his heart until it ached raw. Their distance couldn’t be overcome right now, he knew he couldn’t change this. From their last conversation, he wasn’t even sure George would ever speak to him again, let alone travel the 4331 miles to hold his hand in his. As he drifted to sleep, a single tear rolled down his cheek for the first time in years, a tear of uncertainty; of fear.

The comforting blanket of darkness was torn away from him as the blue light from his phone screen emitted the only colour in his small, lifeless bathroom. The shrill ding of a text notification dragged Clay out of his fitful sleep. He would be lying if he said he hadn’t dreamed of him; the way he felt, the way he tasted. The dream left him with longing passion, followed by the sharp pang of realisation of their last conversation. He rolled over quickly and snatched up the phone off the floor, hoping, needing the text to be from George.  
 _I’m sorry I left like that_ , the message read. Clay sharply inhaled.  
 _I don’t know what happened…_ The ellipses left him clinging to the phone in anticipation and dread of George’s next message. The three dots in the bottom corner of the screen appeared after what felt like a millennia, only to disappear seconds later. George wrote and deleted his message multiple times, probably trying to find the right words to say, if there were any after his stunt.  
 _I think I just had to collect my thoughts, I hope you understand._ He didn’t. It had been hours since he left the call without a warning. And to think things started so well. Clay waited, expecting any sort of follow-up, but none came. He turned the phone off and rolled back onto his back. He couldn’t reply yet, especially after having his heart trodden on by the man he adored more than anyone in this world. He tried to match his breathing with the leaking faucet in attempts to stop from dissolving into an anxiety induced panic. After so many hours, was that all he had to say? No apologies? No explanation? Clay sat up and leaned against the small bathtub behind him. Confused, hurt, embarrassed, he couldn’t find just one emotion to describe what he was feeling in that moment. His confession of love was not acknowledged. No closure. Clay pushed the musty curtain to the side to see the early morning sun pool onto the floor, bragging its cheerfulness and warmth. This was an issue he would face after clearing his head.


End file.
